


What If I'd Told You

by greeny1710



Series: Alternate Works of Chaotic Trio [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Parent-Child Relationship, The Chaos Family are only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeny1710/pseuds/greeny1710
Summary: An alternative turn of events of Chapter 10 of Protect Me Big Brother in which the question of:what would have happened if Charles had spoken to Sebastian about what Mick was doing to him rather than walking away?is answered
Series: Alternate Works of Chaotic Trio [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772158
Comments: 39
Kudos: 151





	1. Dad

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr anon** said: _I was rereading Protect Me and I cant help but wonder what would have happened if Charles actually talked to Seb during the Gala instead of walking away? Would you ever be interested in writing that? An AU of an AU, as if this universe wasnt complicarte enough😂😂_ and well I'm always up for some AU of the AU and this was interesting to think about how Charles would've approached it👀
> 
> As always with PMBB there is mentions of the abuse, however this conversation happens in place of Charles being assaulted by Mick in the bathrooms, so the only mentions are of physical and mental abuse
> 
> As always, take care of yourselves and I hope you enjoy x

He needed his Dad.

He needed to talk to his Dad.

Holding this all in, the weight of Mick’s fists and his words attacking his heart and slowly worming their way into his head, planting seeds in the garden of his mind and reminding him that he would never be enough was becoming too much.

Maybe his Dad wouldn’t believe him.

Maybe he would.

But Charles needed to _fucking try_.

His Dad always promised to keep him safe.

_Daddy’s got you, baby, you’re going to be okay_

Charles let his head drop back against the pillar he stood at, the noise of the Gala slowly dying around him as he tried to calm his racing mind. He simply needed to take a moment to let the ice cold stone press into his heart and his skin. To chill and calm the building anxiety. 

Looking over at his parents, he saw the way his Isä had his arm curled around Dad’s waist, drinks in their hands (obviously planning to get Valtteri to drive home). They were talking to people. They looked happy. Their eyes followed each spin and twirl of Charles’ twin brother on the dance floor, his arms wrapped around what would probably be the love of his life. 

Max looked happy.

His Dads looked happy.

Charles felt dead inside.

He needed his Dad. 

He downed the last of some water, the tidal wave of anxiety being drowned by the tepid sanctity of room temperature water. 

_Daddy’s got you, baby, you’re going to be okay_

One breath

Two breath

Shoulders back

Chin up

_You’re a Räikkönen-Vettel. We don’t let other people win_

Carefully Charles squeezed through gaps in people and walked over to his Dad. 

He wasn’t good at talking to people, he never had been. His body was his tool for that. Everything was hidden under layers of designer clothes and bratty attitudes and screaming matches with anyone that would pay an ounce of attention to him. People slept with him and he liked it. People bought him drinks and he liked it. 

But he was tired of it.

Tired of being a body.

Tired of not being of enough.

As Charles stepped up to the group of adults his parents were stood in, he waited at the side for a moment so they could finish their conversation. 

The conversation shifted to university as his Dad’s coworkers asked about the trio’s plans. His Dads had wide smiles on their faces as Sebastian told them about Valtteri sending in his applications in the morning and what Max was hoping for. 

It was strange to think that would be happening to them. 

The trio finally leaving home. 

_“And Charles? Will he be doing the same? It must be strange the idea of having all the boys at home and within a year and a half they’ll all be off at uni.”_

_“None of us are expecting Charles to go to a university. He’s not the studious type. He probably won’t even bother, he’s more interested in art, like Kimi.”_

Charles felt his heart shatter but it was to be expected. 

His parents didn’t know.

He didn’t talk to them.

He didn’t show them what art meant to him.

He didn’t show them how talented he was at fashion.

It was now or never.

And he couldn’t bottle it now.

It wasn’t their fault.

“Dad?” Charles piped up, stepping into an open gap so his Dad could see him.

“Charles-”

“Can I talk to you?” He asked before his Dad could continue.

“Now?”

“It’s really important, Dad,” Charles murmured, looking down at his trainers and shifting uncomfortably.

Everyone was staring at him and he knew that they were all thinking the same thing. 

For Charles to have appeared so quickly, he had to have been nearby. And that meant he had to have heard what his Dad had said about him.

Saying he wasn’t good enough to go to university. 

“Charles-”

“Dad please, I really need you,” Charles quietly murmured. It was taking so much fucking guts to do this, and he was so close to backing out, to just telling his Dad to fuck it. He’d deal with shit himself. 

No one ever cared about him.

His Dads seemed to exchange a look and frowned at each other, before Isä took Dad’s drink off him and his Dad moved over to follow Charles. Maybe they could tell something was up

Now that he had his Dad’s attention, he didn’t know what to do. 

He’d never really thought that he’d get this far. 

“Can we go somewhere private?” Charles asked, looking across at his Dad and hoping that the one person that he loved unconditionally regardless of how much he’d pushed him away over the years and tested his patience to the point that Charles wondered more often than not that if they regretted adopting him would be able to see that Charles couldn’t be in charge anymore.

He couldn’t be bold.

He couldn’t be assertive. 

He was just a little boy who needed his Dad. 

Watching the confusion across his Dad’s face would’ve been hilarious on any other day, but right now it felt like pure shit. 

His dad had no idea who Charles was anymore. 

And he knew that was his fault. 

He’d been pushing them away, refusing help and love and now he was the one suffering because he had no idea how to function like a real human being. 

“Sure kiddo,” his Dad murmured, placing his hand on Charles’ shoulder, unconsciously pressing into one of the bruises and guiding him down a hallway until they reached an area of pure solitude. 

Not a single soul. 

It was almost like the inside of Charles’ head here. 

Emptiness. 

“So, kid, what’s up?” His Dad leant back against the wall and Charles stood in front of him, nervously shuffling on his feet and biting his lip. 

A sharp pain shot through at the feeling but it kept him grounded. 

“I applied to go to a fashion college,” Charles murmured, “A university, but it’s called a college.”

“Okay,” his Dad said shortly. 

“I sent in the application in the car.”

“Right.”

“Are you mad?”

“That’s come out of nowhere, hasn’t it?”

Charles shook his head and looked down at his hands, nervously tying them together and fidgeting under his Dad’s intense gaze. 

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but I’ve just finally gotten around to sending in the application because… something’s been happening, and I needed to take my mind off it but I was too scared to talk to you,” Charles whispered. 

His Dad squatted down in front of him and forced Charles to look at him. 

“What’s been happening, kiddo?”

Charles looked at his Dad and could feel his teeth chatter as he tried to keep the tears from building. 

“I need to show you,” Charles murmured and his Dad nodded. 

Carefully, Charles pulled his blazer jacket off and folded it to place at his feet. His dad was watching his every move and Charles shakily pulled his t-shirt from his trousers and grabbed at the hem. 

“Promise me you won’t shout at me,” Charles whispered and his Dad simply frowned. 

“Why would I shout at you?”

“Because that’s all you ever do, you’re always telling me off and I… I’m so fucking scared right now Dad…”

“Charles, baby, I’m not going to shout at you, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Charles looked down the corridor for a moment, trying to find the momentum he needed to pull his shirt off. 

He knew the bruises looked bad. 

Wassily Kandinsky would use them as fucking inspiration after all. 

But the idea of showing his Dad was fucking terrifying. 

What if he didn’t believe that they came from Mick’s hands?

What if he thought they were because Charles was a slut who was making things up?

He already knew Charles slept around and was angered by it. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?

“Charles, what’s wrong?”

Charles felt a tear drop from his eye, tracing down his face and leaving an irritating itch behind. 

As he focused on that, Charles dragged his t-shirt up and over his head, holding it uselessly by his side. 

“What the fu-”

“It was Mick Schumacher, Dad…”

“Mick?!” He shouted incredulously. 

Charles nodded minutely, bunching up his t-shirt in his hands as he looked down, seeing the pure fury, anger, confusion, was there even a hint of trust in his Dad’s eyes?

“What the fuck did he do to you?”

“It’s been happening a while, I just, I can’t take it anymore Dad, and I need you to believe me. I really am not lying. I’m not lying it being him. He’s a fucking psycho, Dad.”

His Dad was moving his eyes quickly over Charles’ torso, looking at the deep purple and green bruises that moved delicately across his skin. 

“How long has this been going on?”

“About six weeks, since he started at our school really. He went after Max at first but then I convinced him to focus on me instead. I didn’t know it’d get this bad.” Charles told him, his voice cracking. 

He let out a sob as his Dad traced over the bruises, the pain erupting under his skin. 

“Shit, sorry,” his Dad said, pulling his hand away from the bruises like he’d been burned. 

“It hurts so fucking bad, Dad,” Charles whimpered, “I can’t, I just can’t. I need you to believe me because I can’t live like this anymore Dad.”

“Is this why you’ve been quiet lately? Because you’ve been hiding this from us?”

Charles pressed his face into his t-shirt and nodded. 

“I was so scared you’d be angry at me, that wouldn’t believe me.”

“Mick though…”

“Dad I’m not lying, I swear.”

“You don’t lie,” His Dad pointed out, “You hide things, but you don’t lie.”

Charles nodded and his Dad finally stood up. 

“Am I okay to turn you around?” his Dad asked and Charles nodded. 

His Dad gently placed his hands on Charles’ upper arms and spun him, seeing the bruising wrapping around his ribs and the marks on his back where Mick had slammed him into walls, doors, handles, anything that could take the brunt of the impact. 

“Fucking hell, Charlie, why didn’t you come to us sooner?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Charles told him. 

His Dad spun him around again and automatically went to draw him into a hug but faltered at the last minute. 

“Are you okay to be hugged?”

Charles nodded frantically and fell forward into his Dad. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” his Dad whispered into his hair as Charles wrapped his arms around his Dad’s waist, “I am so sorry we didn’t notice. I shouldn’t have put it down to you being a dramatic teenager, I thought you were just being stroppier than normal because you were jealous of Max getting together with Dan.”

“I just wanted Max to be happy, Dad,” Charles told him and he felt his Dad nod into his hair. 

“You are an amazing brother, but you still should’ve talked to us. Mick shouldn’t have been allowed to do this. How did no one notice at school?”

“He’s smart,” Charles explained, “Only gets me when I’m alone, drags me into the bathroom or classrooms in empty areas, keeps the bruises hidden. He’s so fucking smart Dad and I’m so fucking scared.”

“You don’t have to be scared anymore, baby, I’m going to fix things, okay? I’m going to kill the little bastard for ever daring to lay his hands on you.”

“Mick hates you for some reason, like detests your existence hates you, but I don’t know why. He’s just always talking about ‘precious daddy’, and he always tells me that you don’t want me, that you just want to get rid of me,” Charles told him, clutching onto his dad and refusing to let go.

“Never, Charlie-”

“Dad!” Charles whined at the nickname but amidst the tears streaming down his face, he knew it was a half-hearted protest.

“You’ll always be my little Charlie,” Sebastian told him, cradling Charles so carefully and kissing his hair, “Always be my little boy, okay? And when you tell me things, I will always believe you.”

“Even if I told you it was Max that broke the PlayStation controller when we were fourteen?”

“I will believe you on everything unless it involves you and your brother, I trust neither of you then, that fair?”

Charles laughed through his tears and nodded. 

“What fashion school did you apply to?”

“London College of Fashion…” Charles reluctantly admitted. 

Only the best fucking school in Europe…

“Put your bloody t-shirt back on, Charles,” his Dad said, pulling away from him. 

Charles looked up expecting to see fury and anger on his Dad’s face. And he saw nothing in his eyes. 

What did that mean?

“Why?”

“Because I need to go and brag about my baby, and I can’t do that if you’re half naked. Also, it’s cold and I don’t want you to get pneumonia.”

“What- what.. what are you going to do about Mick? He’s here, after all.”

“I’m going to rip his fucking head off, Charles,” Sebastian admitted and Charles looked at him with wide eyes, “You’re my baby, I don’t let people hurt my babies. But, I won’t actually rip his head off, don’t worry. I’m going to talk to Michael, tell him what Mick did to you, and then go from there, okay?”

“So you believe me?”

“Believed you the second you told me you need me, kid,” Sebastian helped Charles pull his t-shirt on again and Charles groaned as his dad ran his fingers through Charles’ hair. 

“You’re making it stick up too much,” he moaned, but Sebastian simply pulled him in and kissed his forehead. 

“You know that no matter what, me and your Dad are always going to be proud of you, don’t you? Whether you go to fashion school secretly without telling people you want to go, or whether it’s you just finally cleaning your bloody room. We are proud of you, and I don’t know what kind of strength you need to be able to tell someone about what you’re going through, but I am so proud of you for finding that strength.”

“Can you talk to Isä for me? I know should, but… I think I need to go and talk to Max. I kinda haven’t told him anything either.”

“I’m going to talk to Michael, and you talk to your brother, and then we’ll get your Dad, get your brothers, collect Daniel, hope he’s stopped touching up Max, pretty sure Lewis is here too, but the seven of us will go home, and we’ll talk at home, yeah?”

“Can I show you something first?” Charles tentatively asked, and Sebastian nodded.

Charles picked up his blazer and grabbed his phone out of the inner pocket, folding his blazer over his forearm and scrolling on his phone. 

“This is the statement I sent off, the one for UCAS, so I could apply for LCF,” Charles said, passing over his phone and letting himself be vulnerable.

His Dad wrapped his arm around Charles’ shoulder and pulled him in. Charles dropped his head onto his Dad’s shoulder and stared at the wall opposite them. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry when his Dad started absentmindedly running his fingers through Charles’ hair.

It was just nice to feel loved for once. 

“Are you serious about this?” Sebastian asked, locking Charles’ phone and passing it back to him. 

“Yeah I really am, Dad, I sent off the application anyway, but I really like fashion. And I want to do it at uni.”

“That’s fine,” Sebastian nodded, “Just talk to your brothers, yeah? And your Dad. Stop hiding from the world and just start talking.”

“What’s going to happen with Mick?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian admitted, “I really don’t. But I’m going to talk to Michael, and we’ll just see what comes of it. Chances are you’re not going to be in school for the next couple of days, but Catherine’s here tonight, so I’m going to collar her and have a chat, see what she thinks. And then we’ll talk to Michael.”

“I’m sorry I’m a failure,” Charles whispered. 

“You are _not_ a failure, Charles, far from it. You’re fucking brilliant.”

“Language,” Charles cheeked and Sebastian rolled his eyes fondly. 

“I’m serious kiddo. It’s going to be painful, talking to people, having people question every aspect of what happened to you, having people say you’re not enough or you’re lying or it’s not like you said. I have no idea how Michael is going to react. But he’s a good man, I just hope he’s not blinded by his own child.”

“I’m really sorry I’ve done this, I didn’t, I just wanted to keep Max safe, you know?”

“You Räikkönen boys are the most self-sacrificing little shits I’ve ever met,” his Dad grinned and Charles laughed. 

“You know for someone that always tells me off about my language…” Charles said, raising his eyebrows and holding his hands up innocently. 

“Little fucking brat,” Sebastian said and Charles just smiled up at his Dad. 

His Dad pulled him back along, back towards the gala and where the very boy that was destroying him as a person would be. 

But it felt different this time. 

This time he had his Dad by his side and the knowledge that Mick was lying. 

His parents did love him. 

His parents did care about him. 

They wanted him around and he wasn’t a spare part. 

No matter how many bruises decorated his skin and Mick told him he was a worthless orphaned whore, he couldn’t let himself believe it. 

His Dad still seemed trepidus about him studying fashion and art at university, but Charles knew that the happiness was something that would come in time. When he showed them that actually he was talented and he was smart. Not in the same way as his brothers but in his own little way. 

But none of that mattered because he knew he had his Dad’s trust in him. 

And when he walked back into the Gala, Mick’s eyes landed on his and his face dropped, Charles knew that he was winning again. 

He wasn’t on the ropes of a match with Mick that he was losing. 

He wasn’t fighting alone. 

The look in Mick’s eyes, the way he trailed his gaze over Sebastian’s arm around Charles’ shoulders, the way he looked at Charles’ blazer hanging off his arm and his shirt untucked, clearly having shown something off, he saw the look. 

That flash of fear. 

That reminder that he couldn’t win anymore. 

Charles wasn’t fighting alone. 

His Dad was there fighting along with him. 

Charles stared back unwaveringly and simply smiled. 

He didn’t smirk. 

It wasn’t an evil smile. 

It was a smile that said ‘sorry’.

‘I’m sorry you lost’

Only he wasn’t. 

He was very fucking glad Mick had lost. 

He was a Raikkonen-Vettel, and they don’t go down without a fight.


	2. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request from: **Notmyname** \+ **Kay** : _Now you have me wondering what telling Max and Valtteri would be like!! So you know, If you want to do that just know we would all be here for it_

Finding the courage to pull his brother away from his boyfriend and tell him what he’d gone through to save him wasn’t easy.

He saw his Dad talking to his Isä, to Catherine, the three adults turning to look at him as Charles stood on the edge of the dancefloor and staring hopelessly at his brother. 

Max looked so happy. 

He’d not smiled that much in a long time, and when he saw the way that Dan was slowly brushing his fingers over Max’s cheekbones, he didn’t want to interrupt him. He didn’t want his brother to feel like a failure, like he’d done something wrong in not noticing why Charles was so hurt. It was Charles who had made the decision to hide, and it was Charles who took the brunt of it all so that Max could have these moments. 

“You alright kid?” Valtteri asked as he stepped up beside Charles, nudging his shoulder his own. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Charles hissed, his hand coming up to cover where Valtteri had touched him. 

“What’s wrong?” Valtteri automatically brought his hands up to touch Charles’ shoulder and Charles flinched away out of instinct. “Charlie-”

“Max,” He breathed, “I need Max.”

“Charles-”

“I need to talk to you both. Without Dan, without Lewis. I just need you two. I can’t do this alone.”

“Can’t do what?”

Tears sprung to Charles’ eyes as he turned away from Valtteri, looking across instead at the bartender. 

Maybe he should just jack this all in and go and see if the barman would give him a blowjob. Charles had definitely sucked him off before, he was almost positive he could convince him to go for a second round _quite some time_ later. 

“Oi,” Valtteri said, grasping Charles’ wrist, “Stop thinking with your dick for once. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t be getting upset and holding your shoulder if it was nothing.”

“I hurt my shoulder it’s-”

“Don’t say ‘it’s nothing’, Charles, everyone and their fucking mother can tell there’s something going on.”

“Well if everyone can tell how come this is the first time that someone has ever questioned me on it, huh?” Charles asked, squaring up to Valtteri and staring at him, “If everyone knows shit is going on, why has no one questioned me before?”

“Because you’re a moody little bitch?”

“And you’re nothing more than a-”

“Easy guys,” Dan interrupted, pushing Charles and Valtteri apart with a gentle press of his hand to their chests, “Let’s take it down a notch. What’s going on?”

“You’re nothing more than a fucking dickhead,” Charles hissed at Valtteri, completely ignoring Daniel. 

“You little shit,” Valtteri replied. 

“You bastard,” Charles said, the only warning before he tried to pummel his fist into Valtteri’s face. 

“WOAH!” Dan shouted, intercepting Charles’ fist and folding his arm behind his back whilst Max pushed Valtteri away, putting distance between the two brothers. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Charles shouted, fighting Dan’s grasp as Dan dragged him away. 

“Not gonna happen, buddy.”

“I’m not your fucking buddy!”

“I’m aware,” Dan said, dragging Charles out of the Gala and onto the main front, leaving him to be lit up by the light cascading out of the windows and lighting him up like the ethereal being that Max acted like Daniel was. 

“What the hell was that all about?” Max asked, following them out and gently pulling Charles’ arm out of Dan’s hold. 

“He’s fucked up, Max, he’s fucking fucked up.”

“You did call him a dickhead,” Max pointed out.

“Because he called me a moody little bitch!”

“You have been kind of acting like one though.”

Charles rolled his eyes and shook his head, staring over his shoulder as he bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from crying. 

Why did everyone have to treat him like shit _all the fucking time_?

“Why Dad thought I should talk to you I’ve got no fucking clue,” Charles muttered under his breath. 

“Why do you need to talk to me?” Max asked, stepping into Charles’ field of vision and cutting short the painting Charles was chasing in the night sky of the stars creating a new world. 

“Because he told me to.”

“But about what?”

“Is it about that Mick kid?” Dan asked, putting his arm around Max’s shoulder and pulling him in. 

“What the fuck?!” Charles screamed. Daniel _fucking knew_ and this was the first opportunity he took to talk about it?!

“What Mick kid? The new one? Why? What’s been happening with him?” Max asked, his eyes bouncing between his boyfriend and brother quickly. 

“I don’t know, but Charlotte spoke to me a few weeks ago, said she was concerned that something was going on, that Charles was acting weird and she didn’t really know what to do. She asked me if I’d noticed anything, I said I hadn’t but I’d speak to Mick. He just said that you’re helping him settle in and that you two kind of had a thing for each other.”

“You seriously couldn’t be further from the truth with that,” Charles said, his voice shaky as he threaded his fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly to try and calm himself down and redirect the pain coursing through his skin to his head where _he_ could be the one to control how he felt. 

“Charles what’s going on?” Max asked, walking closer to Charles and letting Dan’s arm drop from around him, “Talk to me. What’s happened?”

“He kicked the shit out of me, Max,” Charles told him, a tear falling as he turned back to him, “absolutely battered me.”

There was a moment of silence before Max whispered,

“I know you don’t lie, but please tell me you’re lying right now.” His hands flailed as he tried both to touch Charles to reassure himself that Charles fine, but also not touch him because he knew how antsy Charles got if you touched him when he didn’t want to be touched. 

“I’m not lying, Max.”

Charles handed his jacket over to Dan and Dan held it whilst Charles pulled his shirt up, showing Max the pattern painted across his skin. 

Max flinched as the dark bruising came up, the pattern a grotesque image that no one wanted to see. 

“No.” Max said, his fingers shaking as he lifted his hand to stroke across the bruises, “no you promised this wouldn’t happen again.”

“Promised what?” Dan asked, carefully squeezing Max’s wrist to keep him calm. 

“He promised that he’d stop taking the fall for me. What the fuck did you do?!”

“Maxy-”

“I don’t let people hurt my brother,” Charles interrupted Dan, staring Max dead in the eye to keep him grounded, “you know that. I’ve done it since we were babies, Max, and I’ll do it until the day I die.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

“I’d rather it be me than you.”

“But I need you! I need you here and you can’t keep doing this shit, Charles! You can’t keep acting like you’re not important! Because you are! And this shit isn’t okay.”

“Maxy, calm down, it’s okay,” Dan whispered, brushing the tears away as they fell down Max’s cheeks, “Charles, do you need us to do anything?”

“Make him go away,” He whimpered. 

Max pulled his arm free from Dan and sprinted at Charles’ words, running back into the Gala with Dan hot on his heels. Charles stared after them for a moment before running after them, chasing the sound of Daniel shouting for Max to ‘stop’ and to ‘wait’, as they both realised what Max was about to do. 

“You fucking bastard!” Max shouted was the last thing Charles heard before the sound of something crashing to the ground. Charles was barely able to push through the crowds and catch sight of Dan and Valtteri dragging Max off the floor. 

“Max, stop!” 

Only they wasn’t dragging Max off the floor, they were dragging Max off of Mick. 

“Touch my fucking brother again!” Max threatened, his chest heaving with anger as he tried to fight the grip that Valtteri and Dan had on him. 

“I’ve got him,” Dan nodded to Valtteri. 

“Yeah I don’t trust you.”

“This isn’t about us, right now!” Dan argued back to Valtteri. 

Charles managed to get through the crowds and push Max back into Dan’s grip, watching the way that Dan grabbed Max around the waist and pulled him away. Max was kicking out and screaming as Lewis joined Dan and Valtteri, helping him to drag Max away whilst Charles looked at what Max had done to Mick. 

Mick was a bloodied mess on the floor with his father crouched beside him, doing nothing more than shaking his head and checking if Max had achieved breaking Mick’s nose. Charles stared down at him as Mick looked back at Charles, his eyes cold as he batted his father’s hands away. 

Charles could vaguely hear Dr Schumacher saying something to Mick. It was nothing more than mumbled German but Charles was almost positive that he understood the brief conversation the father and son had correctly. 

_“You are in so much trouble. I told you to not do this shit again.”_

_“The whore deserved it.”_

“I didn’t deserve shit,” Charles told him, looking up when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. 

“You’ll be hearing from Charles’ lawyer, Mick,” Sebastian told him.

It seemed like the entirety of the Gala was surrounding them with everyone looking at Charles and Mick. 

“You can’t hurt me anymore Mick,” Charles told him, “You can’t hurt anyone ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Faintly, Charles could still hear the sound of Max’s screaming, the desire to be let go so that he could finish what he’d started. He barely knew anything, barely even saw the bruises, and he was already fighting Mick like he’d been doing it his whole life. 

“Come on, you,” Kimi murmured, pulling Charles back through the assembled crowds and wrapping his own jacket around Charles’ shoulders when he saw his teenager shivering in just his t-shirt, as Dan still had hold of Charles’ jacket and now both Dan and the jacket were gone. “Let’s get you home kiddo.”

Charles squeezed his eyes shut as his Dads guided him back out, not wanting to see the looks on people’s faces when they realised that the great Sebastian Vettel had some fucked up idiot for a child. 

He didn’t deserve to bear his father’s name. 

Max did. 

He’d fought Mick, punched him and tried to kill him for what he’d done to Charles. 

All Charles had done was get himself battered.

“Why is it that when there’s someone fighting it’s always you or Max?” Seb sighed, jostling Charles slightly to get him to open his eyes. 

“You should be glad they’re fighting other people and not each other for a change,” Kimi pointed out.

“I can deck Max if you want me to?” Charles told them.

“I think there’s been enough fighting today.”

“I’ll punch him tomorrow then,” Charles nodded. 

“CHARLES MARC RÄIKKÖNEN-VETTEL!”

Charles smiled at his Dad as they walked out, barely getting onto the front before Max was attaching himself to Charles’ front, hugging him as tight as he possibly could with no regard for the bruises aching in Charles’ body. 

But frankly, Charles couldn’t care either. 

He knew his parents were going to be mad at him once they got home, and he knew that Max was probably going to murder him for doing what he’d done, and he still needed to talk to Valtteri (and probably apologise for calling him a dickhead but in Charles’ defence Valtteri _did_ call him a moody little bitch). 

However with Max’s arms around his neck, the other half of his soul clutching onto him, it felt marginally okay. 

His Dad believed him. And Max still cared about him. It was going to be okay. Dad believed him. Max believed him. 

Max _punched_ Mick to defend Charles.

“You’re such a dick for doing this,” Max murmured, “You need to stop pretending you’re not important, because you are. You’re the most important person in my life-”

“What about Dan?” Charles interrupted. 

“He already knows that you’re more important. God you’re the most infuriating person on the planet, why did you do this?”

“Because you love Dan, and I wanted you to keep loving him and not feel bad for being yourself for once. You deserve it, Max. After all the shit we went through, you didn’t need more adding on top of it. I can’t go through what we went through when we were fifteen again,” he whispered. 

“I hate you, do you know that?”

“I know.”

“Good. You brat.”

Charles hugged Max back, and buried his face in his brother’s neck, not wanting to have to deal with the outside world looking at them. 

Right now, all he needed was his brother, his Dads, and to hope that his older brother had stopped being a dick and was willing to listen to him. 

“I hope you remember the number for your therapist because I feel like we’re going to need to call him soon,” Charles mumbled in Max’s ear. 

Max laughed lowly but nodded. 

Maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as Charles was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post Valtteri's chapter tomorrow, and finally this WIP will be completed lmao
> 
> Kudos, comments & feedback always greatly appreciated💙
> 
> Tumblr is at [3303andmore](https://3303andmore.tumblr.com) xxx
> 
> **Fic Requests are currently closed xx**


	3. Valtteri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's really not much to say other than that this is the counterpart to Max's chapter, and it's just some family feels tbh
> 
> **CW: Mentioned past suicide attempt**

The house was silent when Charles climbed out of bed. 

And maybe he shouldn’t be walking around the house at 2:17am when his dads were asleep above them and Max was curled in Dan’s arms and Valtteri and Lewis were asleep in Valtteri’s room. 

Except there was something about the rain battering the windows that meant that Charles couldn’t sleep. He always slept through storms, not afraid of them anymore, not like he used to be as a little boy. And he wasn’t unable to sleep because of the rain. It was just for some reason keeping him awake today.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly and grabbed his water bottle, sketchbook and a pencil, wandering out of his room and shuffling over the floorboards that normally squeaked. He’d grown a pro over the years at being able to sneak around the house no matter the time of day.

It’d been a few months since he’d snuck into the house when it was pushing 3am. Only this time, there was no alcohol in his system and no bad decisions made with who he’d slept with. 

Not anymore.

Now he just had the bruises on his skin and the screaming in his ears.

Charles made it downstairs without waking anyone up, wandering through to the kitchen and turning on one of the small lights over the oven so that it wasn’t completely dark in the room. Silently, he filled up his bottle with fresh cold water. There was still no noise coming from the rest of the house, and Charles sat down on the cold granite flooring in front of the sliding glass door that protected them from the outside world. 

Coldness seeped through his body as he learnt his forehead against the glass. The rain was battering down, barely touching the decking of the patio before it was flying back up. The soft lighting reflected Charles in the glass, showing him sat both in the safety of his own home and stuck outside in the darkness and the rain. 

Alone.

Charles closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out. His breath left condensation on the glass, and he watched it slowly expand before pulling away from it and drawing a pattern in it.

Telling his Dad and Max hadn’t been as easy as he thought. 

Not that he expected it to be easy, except he kind of did. 

He’d expected that when he went to them and told them and they stopped Mick, there’d be a sense of relief and he’d be able to sleep without panicking or having vivid dreams of being chased. That the memories of abuse from years prior wouldn’t be repeated only this time by Mick anymore. He’d hoped that this would all be over.

And yet it was only the beginning.

He’d never been good at waiting. Too impulsive. Too short-term focused. He ran full steam ahead and hoped for the best. 

Right now, Charles hated that. 

He wanted nothing more than to go and wake Max, or his Dads, or even Valtteri. To drag one of them up so that he felt less alone at 2:25am. 

Instead, it was just him, his sketchbook, and the rain.

It was pathetic fallacy that the weather outside be as confusing as the storm in his head.

It was warm. Yet lonesome. It was so loud. Yet calm. 

Trying to ignore the atmosphere around him, Charles twisted to sit with his back against the glass and brought his knees up, balancing his sketchbook on his thighs as he flipped to a random page. 

He really had no idea what he wanted to draw. 

But his hands were itching and his body was full of untapped energy. He simply needed to get something on the paper.

With the rain narrating his background, Charles put his pencil to the paper and let his head explode onto it.

“What are you doing?” 

Charles looked up sharply at the sound of his elder brother’s voice.

“Drawing? What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Planning a way to sneak out.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m just chilling.”

“Yeah, Max said the same thing too and then he ended up in hospital for a week, Charles.”

“I’m not about to sneak out and try and kill myself, Valtteri,” Charles snapped, looking back at his drawing and going back to scribbling onto the paper.

“No one knows what you’re capable of anymore. You’re a different person these days.”

“I’m still your little brother, regardless of all the shit you give me.”

Valtteri sighed and crossed the floor, coming to sit beside Charles, nudging his little brother slightly when Charles kept his gaze fixed on his sketchbook and refused to look up at him.

“Talk to me.”

“Why?” Charles asked, “You’ve never cared about me before.”

“I’ve always cared about you, you idiot. You just don’t see it.”

“Because you treat me like shit!”

“No offence, Charles, but you don’t exactly treat me any better.”

Charles wanted to retort, except he knew that Valtteri was right. It wasn’t that him and Valtteri _didn’t_ get along, but they were completely different people. Stuck in different worlds where all Charles cared about was getting drunk, sleeping with people and doing art. Valtteri was studious, he wanted to go to uni, he got straight A’s. They were different people. 

“Did you draw that?” Valtteri asked, nodding at the drawing.

“Well there’s no one else around, is there?” Charles responded, resisting the urge to pull his sketchbook into his chest and hide his creation.

He _hated_ people looking at his work. Especially when it was unfinished. 

“Why have you never shown anyone this before?”

Charles shrugged awkwardly and pulled his sketchbook a bit tighter into him. He wasn’t exactly hiding it, but he wasn’t exactly keeping it on display either. 

His art always felt too personal to expose it to someone else.

“You’re really good at that.”

“I know,” Charles murmured.

“What happened, Charles? Why did Max kick off?” Valtteri carefully asked, watching Charles slowly add more strokes of line work to the drawing.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“I want you to tell me. I can see the bruises on your arm, and I’m sure that’s not the extent of the bruising, is it?”

“Why do you care, Valtteri? You’ve got Max to worry about, your A-Levels. You’ve just applied to uni. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re my little brother, Charlie, I always worry about you. Just the same way I always worry about Max. Do you seriously think I wouldn’t have come down here if I didn’t worry about you?”

“You just... you never listen when I want to talk, you don’t want to hang out, you just want to play hockey and... I don’t know. It just really seems like you don’t care about me anymore. I know I’m not easy but-”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. Yeah I get busy and I know I talk to Max more, but it’s because you seem like you’ve been doing okay. What changed?”

“Mick,” He whispered, stopping himself from drawing when his hand started shaking so much it was hard to keep his shading somewhat straight. “He hates Dad, wanted to start shit with Max, and after everyone thinking that I wanted to take Dan off of Max, I wanted to make sure that Max was okay. And then it just escalated and I didn’t want people to find out what I was doing so I just fucked myself up in the process.”

“Why didn’t you talk to someone? Why didn’t you say to us that this shit was happening?”

“How the hell do you start that conversation? What, do you want us to be sat around the dinner table and as Dad’s finishing up talking about how a guy in court threw an orange peel at his lawyer because he was acting like a dick, I pipe up with ‘oh just to let you know chaps, I’ve had the shit kicked out of me because I’m trying to look after Max, but don’t worry, because I’ve at least I’ve told you’?”

“Do you always have to be dramatic?”

“Have you ever thought that it’s a fucking coping mechanism?” Charles spat, “Sorry that I’m not the perfect fucking child like you. Sorry that my brother ended up dragging me along too when you didn’t want me to be adopted. Sorry that you got dumped with little brothers that you don’t give a shit about-”

“Shut the fuck up! That’s not fair!”

“That’s how you treat me!”

“You’re such a dickhead... I’m trying to _talk_ to you Charles, and you’re still kicking off. What the hell am I meant to do?”

“I don’t know how to talk!” Charles shouted, not giving any mind to the fact that it was pushing 3am and they were sat on the cold granite tiling of their kitchen. “I don’t know how to be important, Valtteri! No one cares about me. How the fuck am I meant to make people care?!”

Charles’ final question was punctuated by a tear falling from his eye and he quickly swiped it away, not wanting Valtteri to see him break down.

“Charlie-”

“Don’t,” Charles whispered harshly, “Don’t act like you care now.”

“I’m here at quarter to three in the morning sitting on the floor with a numb ass because I don’t want you to be alone. I _always_ care, Charles. You need to stop listening to whatever demon you’ve got in there,” Valtteri jabbed a finger at Charles’ forehead, “And start paying attention to what people are actually saying. I know it’s fucking hard and I know it’s scary, but you’re _not alone_. You’ll always be my annoying, dickhead baby brother. Just like Max will always be my dumbass, incredibly stupid little brother. That’s what makes you two perfect for this family. People love you, Charles, you’re not alone. You’re part of this family regardless of what you want to believe.”

Charles didn’t say anything as he looked down at his drawing, slightly blurred by the tears in his eyes and his pulse was drumming heavily in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”

“Can I hug you?”

Charles nodded and Valtteri instantly curled his arm around Charles’ shoulders to run his hand steadily over Charles’ arm as he curled into his big brother. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered again.

“Stop apologising, you self-sacrificing little bastard,” Valtteri mumbles in his ear.

Charles laughed wryly and brushed the tears from his cheeks.

“Want to tell me what actually happened?”

For a moment Charles didn’t say anything, simply closed his eyes and let Valtteri hold him close. 

“Mick started knocking Max about, a few weeks after he got with Dan. And you know how scared he is of things going wrong with Dan. This is his first relationship, I want him to be happy and that. And Mick pinned Max to the wall by his throat and he had that same look on his face as he did when he was 15, Val. When he just wanted it to be over. And I panicked, I didn’t know what else to do. I thought... I don’t know what I thought. Maybe if Mick focused on me and not Max, Max could finally see what it’s like to be ‘normal’.” Charles explained, making quote marks in the air around the word, “I know everyone has a different version of it, but Max wanted to be treated like a ‘normal’ boy in a ‘normal’ relationship and I didn’t want Mick to put him back to being younger and being terrified of liking boys. I don’t care about me, people use me, people hate me, I don’t care. I care about Max. And I wanted him to feel that for once.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know, six weeks maybe? It wasn’t _everyday_ ,” Charles shrugged, dropping his head onto Valtteri’s shoulder, “It didn’t bother me at first. Kinda felt like I deserved it, but-”

“No you didn’t.”

“Let me talk,” Charles held his finger up and shut Valtteri off, “But the more it went on, the more I realised that just because I’ve done bad things, it doesn’t mean I _deserve_ to be hurt. Mick is just a fucking psycho. I heard him talking to Dr Schumacher and Doc said something about ‘I told you not to do this shit again’, so clearly he’s just some fucked up person that gets joy from it all.”

“What’s going to happen, then? Obviously Max punched the shit out of him, but what’s going to happen with you and him?”

“Dad spoke to Catherine, she does a lot on underage interpersonal violence, and Dad said he was gonna talk to Dr Schumacher too. Dad said I’m not going into school for the rest of the week because I’m going to have to go to his office and give statements, talk everything through with Catherine and Dad. In regards to Max, I have no idea.”

“Surely they’re not going to try and get Max on a charge?”

“Depends whether they can convince Mick to enter a guilty plea. If he takes a not guilty plea, this will go to court, and then his defence lawyer will try and spin some shit about it being Max that was the aggressive one and that would mean an investigation into him. So basically, all the shit I went through is gonna backfire and Max is gonna get fucked up again,” Charles told him, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“It’s gonna be alright, Charles, no matter what. We’re all going to be along supporting you, you know that right?”

“I don’t want to put Max through this shit. He’s too fragile.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s got Dan now. He’s going to be okay. Things are better these days. I don’t like the bastard, you know I hate Dan, but he’s good for Max and if shit goes down, Dan’s going to be there fighting along beside Max just as much as the rest of us. But it’s gonna be alright, Charles. And no matter what, we’re all going to be here by your side listening to you and supporting you with whatever you need. Open up your mind and your heart and you’ll find that actually people care about you more than you realise.”

“What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t stand there and tell them what he did to me?”

“You will,” Valtteri said confidently, “You have all the confidence in the world, Charlie. You can do this. Just think of it as another stage show. You’re the centre of attention and people are going to listen to you again, Charles. When you talk, people listen.”

“Do you think Dad actually believes me? Or do you think he’s just agreeing with me so he can get me in front of Catherine and have her ‘find out the truth’?”

“You don’t lie. You hide things, but you don’t lie,” Valtteri shook Charles’ shoulder slightly as though to prove a point before carrying on, “Dad believes you, Charlie, we all do.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles muttered as he turned his face to bury it into Valtteri’s neck.

“For what?”

“For everything. For being shit, for being mean, rude, I don’t know. Just everything. Sorry for everything I said. I don’t want to be a dick, I just don’t know how to let people in.”

“I think showing people how bloody talented you are at this-” he nodded at Charles’ sketchbook “-is an excellent step forward. You can see who you are through your art. I know art makes you vulnerable, but let us in. Show us what art means to you. I don’t understand art, but I know I understand you. And I understand what your artwork means because of it. It’s not a bad thing to let yourself be a bit vulnerable with the people you love.”

Charles yawned and scrubbed at his eyes, the darkness of the outside world slowly enveloping him as the rain started to quiet.

“Okay,” he nodded, “I can do that.”

“And I’m sorry too.” Valtteri took a breath and squeezed Charles’ shoulders tight. “I’m sorry for not being there for you when you need me. Or when you want to talk. Or any time. You’re my little brother and I’ll always care about you, alright, dickhead?”

Laughing wetly, Charles nodded, dropping his sketchbook onto the floor and shimmying his arms around Valtteri’s waist.

“We love you, idiot,” Valtteri said with a smile.

“Love you too,” Charles agreed. He honestly didn’t know when the last time he’d said those words to someone in his family was. 

“Boys? Are you okay?” Sebastian worriedly asked as he walked into the kitchen, squatting down in front of the two as they broke apart.

“We’re okay,” Valtteri told him strongly, “Tiny Idiot had some stuff he needed to get out of his head.”

Sebastian looked at Charles and ran his hand up and down his calf.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to be in my room, so I came and sat here. Valtteri came down and we’ve been talking.”

“You could’ve come up to us, baby, you know that, right?” 

“I know. I didn’t want to bother anyone. You’ve both got work in the morning.”

“Charlie, I’m allowed to be late to my own firm. That’s the perks of the job. If you need us, we will sit up all night long with you, kiddo.”

Charles knew his Dad wasn’t bullshitting him. 

_Because he believes you_

_He wants you to be safe_

_He loves you_

_Everyone loves you, you annoyingly talented little shit_

It’s funny how the voice acting as Charles inner monologue reminded him so deeply of Max. 

“I know, Dad,” Charles shrugged, for the first time actually believing him. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Sebastian and Valtteri both curled their arms around him again and Charles’ eyes fluttered shut heavily.

Everything was cut off. 

Fear

Loneliness

Pain

Uselessness 

Nothing mattered.

It _couldn’t_ matter.

Because finally his family knew. And they cared. And they _believed him_. 

That was all he had to worry and care about right now.

Everything to come would be dark, he knew that.

But maybe, just maybe, if his Dads and his big brothers were willing to be by his side and support him, it would be alright. 

The darkness would come, it was inevitable. Charles could only hope he was ahead of the curve and able to run fast enough to keep it behind him. And as his Dad threaded his fingers through his hair, he knew that he’d have a running partner through it all. 

His family weren’t going to leave him behind to outrun this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles is the sweetest bean and I love him
> 
> Kudos, comments & feedback always greatly appreciated💙
> 
> Tumblr is at [3303andmore](https://3303andmore.tumblr.com) xxx
> 
> **Fic Requests are currently closed xx**

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Sebastian Vettel I hope he's okay
> 
> Kudos, comments, and feedback always greatly appreciated💙
> 
> Tumblr is at 3303andmore if you wanna come and hang out and see the dumb shit I post about Charles Leclerc as tiktoks :)


End file.
